“There’s a direct correlation between audience appreciation and the tips you receive. I’d say you impressed my patrons tonight. The tips are all yours. I will also cut you a modest check for your wonderful work. But first, there is someone that I’d like you to meet.”
He took me gently by the hand and led me to the table where the black-haired woman sat. A glass of dark red wine rested in front of her.
“Aria, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Calisto Tremaine, of the esteemed Tremaine family,” Abraham announced. “She was the one who recommended your talents to us.”
There was a familiarity to Calisto’s face but I couldn’t recall ever meeting her before. Would she be offended if I didn’t have a clue who she was? I couldn’t possibly pretend to know her. My abilities to tell a lie were as proficient as a hole-punched condom.
“I’m honoured,” I said, extending my hand out. I figured a good old-fashioned handshake was a safe way to start things off.
Calisto grinned, rose from her seat and returned the handshake. She had a firm grip.
“I’m a big fan of your music,” Calisto said, gesturing for me to sit in the empty seat at her table.
I sat down.
Seeing that we were both settled in, Abraham gave us a polite nod. “Well if there’s nothing else needed of me, I’ll help the others with the cleanup.”
“You do realize that’s what hired help is for,” Calisto said. “You should sit back and relax once in a while.”
Abraham smiled. “Believe it or not, I find doing dishes quite soothing.”
“You’re the poorest rich man I know,” Calisto said.
“Wealth is not measured by one’s assets, but rather one’s reverence,” Abraham said. “Do those words sound familiar?”
“How could they not?” Calisto smiled. “I’ve always been daddy’s little girl. You know that.”
Abraham bowed politely and then headed back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with my mysterious fan.
“Some wine?” Calisto asked, gesturing to the half-filled bottle on the table. “It’s a vintage 82 Bordeaux. You’ll love it.”
“I can’t really say I’m a wine connoisseur,” I replied. “Something so expensive might go to waste on my primitive taste buds.”
“Nonsense,” Calisto said as she poured some of the rosy liquid into an empty wine glass on the table. “It’s a travesty for a single girl to drink alone. You’re obliged to have a drink with me.”
I grabbed the glass, shrugged, and took a healthy swig, downing it like I would a beer. It probably wasn’t the proper wine-drinking etiquette seeing as how my chugging display caused Calisto to start giggling.
“You’re supposed to appreciate the wine, not inhale it like tequila shots,” she said.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I felt her judging me, which was item number two on the list of things that vexed me.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Maybe all the wine snobs are fools and don’t even know it. Who has the right to determine how one enjoys alcoholic beverages anyways? To tell you the truth, I never had the palate for wines either. All vintages taste the same to me.” Calisto stared at her glass, shrugged her shoulders and said, “Fuck it, why not?” She downed the rest of her wine in a single gulp.
“Fuck traditions,” she laughed, slamming the glass down on the table when she finished. “Someone always ends up breaking it anyways.”
I liked her already.
“You probably have a lot of questions for me,” Calisto said, pouring another glass.
“I sure do,” I replied.
“You probably want to know how I heard of you and your brilliant piano skills.”
“Yes.”
“And why I suggested for you to play at the China White tonight.”
“Yup.”
“And maybe who I am, besides this lonely girl sitting at this table downing a whole bottle of wine by herself.”
“Of course.”
“Well too bad,” Calisto laughed. “None of that matters. What does matter is if you want to make some more money.”
“Like another gig here?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” Calisto said. She glanced around the room, making sure no one else was listening in on our conversation. “What if I told you that I’m looking for a pianist for just one night at a very exclusive party?”
“Sounds pretty intriguing,” I replied.
“When I say exclusive, I mean that no one else can know about it. I’m talking cloak and dagger secrecy here,” Calisto said. “Can I trust you not to say a word of this to anyone else?”
“Say a word of what?” I played along. “We’re just sitting here enjoying a nice glass of wine from what I can tell.”
Calisto smiled. “I’m part of a very secretive club whose members are very influential and powerful people. Don’t ask me to name any names or go into further details, but I can tell you this: if they like you, they can seriously make your career. You can have your pick headlining Vienna, the Metropolitan Opera, or Carnegie Hall. I’m sure you get the picture.”
She definitely knew how to throw a good sales pitch.
“Go on,” I said. “The wine has made me very impressionable to your sweet talk.”
“In three days, my organization is having a…” Calisto seemingly paused, trying to find the right words for it. “…celebration. It’s possibly one of the biggest events our secret little organization has had in the past decade. I’ve been tasked to take care of all the little details, including entertainment. Aria Valencia, I’d love for you to play at this very important and very hush, hush event.
It sounded almost too good to be true. There had to be a catch. There always was a catch to these things.
“I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful skeptic, but why me?” I asked. “I’m just a nobody who knows how to hammer out a few good pieces on the piano.”
Calisto laughed. “You’re modest to a fault. A few months back I heard you practicing in the university concert hall. You were playing Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody number two, a piece that has great sentimental value to me. You played it with such a passionate fire and beautiful grace that the music resonated from the auditorium and straight into my heart, holding me like a mother holding her newborn.
“My father was a huge Liszt fan and listening to you play the rhapsody took me back in time, when I was still a little girl. I remembered sitting in my father’s lap one night and listening to that beautiful piece, just before his unfortunate death. It was the last moment we shared together as father and daughter. Your music unearthed that precious memory for me, a gift that’s absolutely priceless. I’ve been a huge fan of yours ever since.”
I was taken aback by her story. “You actually liked my version of the Hungarian Rhapsody?” I asked. “I thought I was playing it like shit. Hell, I still don’t have it all figured out. My fingering is still a bit stiff on some parts of the song.”
“It was beautiful Aria; absolutely beautiful,” Calisto replied. “I know this will sound a bit stalker-ish but sometimes I listened to you practicing from outside the hall. I’ve also attended a couple of your recitals that you had for your classmates. Creepy isn’t it?”
I was flabbergasted. I actually had a fan, and she was a woman of impeccable taste.
“It’s not creepy at all,” I replied. “I’m thrilled that someone appreciates all my hard work. Sometimes as an artist it’s hard gauging your own performance. It’s great to have a little validation once in a while.”
“So here’s the deal,” Calisto said. “I want you to play for us at this celebration. I’m willing to pay you ten thousand dollars for a single night’s worth of music.”
I choked on my wine.
“Aria, are you alright?” she asked.
When my airways were finally cleared of fluid, I responded. “Did you just say you’d give me ten thousand dollars for a single night?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, “Ten thousand dollars. It’s a very g
ood offer. Try finding that kind of money without having to take your clothes off in some sort of fashion.”
I had to be dreaming. I should have been ecstatic, jumping on the tables while doing fist pumps, but once again the skeptic in me strangled my excitement.
“If this party is as important as you say it is, why don’t you get someone famous, like Marc-Andre Hamelin or Krystian Zimmerman?” I asked. “I’m seriously a peasant who can barely afford a Kit-Kat for lunch.”
“Because I don’t want either of those two,” Calisto replied. “I want you.”
“And these guests of yours won’t be disappointed that an undiscovered nobody musician will be playing at this grand event?”
Her smile was sly and full of mischief. “Here’s the beautiful thing,” Calisto said. “I’ve already made you a star in this inner circle of ours.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I created a story about you, one that may be on the fictitious side,” Calisto said. “Right now you’re known as the Golden Virgin, a mysterious pianist who lives a life of chastity so that your music is as pure as your heart.”
“But I’m not a virgin,” I said.
“Just pretend.”
“I dunno,” I replied. “I’ve never been a good liar.”
“When’s the last time you had sex?”
It was a rather blunt question to ask. I was fairly private when it came to my personal life and felt uncomfortable discussing it with someone whom I met ten minutes ago. I was also embarrassed to admit that my sex life was as dry as a sand dune over the past two years.
Having no money didn’t exactly give me the freedom to go out and meet people worthy of dating.
“I guess it was an intrusive question to ask,” Calisto said, after a brief moment of awkward silence. “I’m fairly open about my indecent escapades. The last time I had sex was yesterday with a Chilean carpenter who was installing hardwood floors in one of my condos. He looked like Johnny Depp with muscles. I came twice that night.”
“Uh…”
“I thought I’d share that with you, just so you understand that my question to you had no cruel intentions behind it.”
Oh, what the hell. What harm was it in telling Calisto about my dismal and chaste personal life.
“Two years,” I said.
“Two years?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. You’re practically chaste anyways. I’m sure you’ll play the part of the Golden Virgin well.”
“So this story telling of yours, does that make you a habitual liar?” I asked. I was always cautious around storytellers. I hated being the fool.
“No,” Calisto replied. “It makes me a habitual marketer.”
“I see.”
She must have noticed the look of disapproval on my face. She immediately took my hands and gave me a pleasant, and strangely hypnotic, smile.
“So Aria, it all comes down to this,” Calisto said. “For ten thousand dollars, will you play at our exclusive party?”
I didn’t have to think long nor hard about it.
“Yes,” I replied. I needed to take every opportunity I could get. Also ten thousand dollars would cover my rent for the year along with supplying me with some much-needed groceries.
“Excellent,” Calisto said clasping her hands together. “Now remember, you mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone else.”
“I swear, not another soul will hear about this,” I raised my hand in the air, as if I were pledging my allegiance.
“Good,” Calisto said. “The punishment for violating the sanctity of our little secret is death—to you and the person you divulge to.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the amusing cliché.
“Sadly, I wish I was joking,” Calisto replied. Her words sent an instant shiver up my spine and for a moment, I couldn’t help but wonder what I was getting myself into.
Chapter Two
The black limo pulled up in front of the sad little shanty that I called home. I was surprised to see Abraham, dressed in a splendid slim-fit tuxedo, step out of the driver’s side door, greeting me with his trademark smile.
“You’re my chauffeur for the evening?” I asked.
“Indeed,” he said, opening the backseat door for me like a true gentleman. “I’m a jack of all trades: restaurant owner, respected socialite, and for this evening, your personal driver.”
“Well if anyone’s to drive me to my potential career suicide, I’m glad it’s you,” I said. Since this morning, I’ve had some issues with my confidence.
It went missing.
I was as jittery as a pornstar in church. I blamed Calisto and her “make or break” line that echoed in my mind over and over again.
If they like you, they can make your career. You can have your pick headlining Vienna, the Metropolitan Opera, or Carnegie Hall.
That was a lot of pressure placed on one single night. What if I screwed it up?
When I was a child, my worst fear was having rotten produce tossed at me after a poor piano recital, which was absurd thinking about it now. Who brought tomatoes and lettuce to piano recitals in the first place?
The more plausible scenario was that someone would hate my music and spread the word of how shitty my performance was to the musical mavens and crush my dreams of selling out concert halls.
I’d rather have the tomatoes.
The thought of failing tonight made me want to drop to the sidewalk and curl up into a fetal position.
“You shouldn’t doubt your talents,” Abraham said as I entered the limo.
He closed the door behind me. As he entered the driver’s seat, he continued to cheer me on. “You’re one extraordinary pianist. I’m sure you’ll have no problems captivating this crowd.”
However, his words escaped my ears as my attention was focused on some disturbing details inside the limo. The first thing I noticed was that the rear windows were tinted black from the inside, restricting any view to the world outside. Also there was a partition between the front seats and the back, which separated me physically from Abraham.
I felt claustrophobic and feared that I was a prisoner in this luxurious motorized prison.
“Hey Abraham, not to sound ungrateful for the ride, but to be honest the lack of natural light is freaking me out a bit,” I said.
“I do apologize for that,” Abraham replied through a speaker in the roof. “Did Calisto inform you that tonight’s event is a very private affair?”
“She did,” I replied.
“Unfortunately the location of the celebration must be kept secret as well,” Abraham said. “You will notice that there is no cell phone reception available in the limo either. I do understand how this may all be a bit unnerving and if you wish, I can inform Calisto that you’ve changed your mind about tonight’s performance. I’m sure she can find a suitable replacement.”
Common sense should have told me to leave the vehicle, head back up to my apartment, and find a less shady way to make some cash. But I was a desperate girl and the potential to make ten thousand dollars for one night’s work was way too good of an opportunity to pass up. I was flat broke once more after paying my tuition with the tips from China White and still needed to cover rent. Common sense had gone fishing tonight. I’d listen to it when I wasn’t down to my last nickel.
“Can I trust that you won’t kidnap me and sell me to some European sex-slave ring Abraham?”
“On the soul of my daughter, our organization will not harm you in any way, shape, or form,” Abraham said without hesitation.
“Well then, let’s get this party started,” I said.
“Excellent. I do believe that tonight’s event should open many doors for you in the near future.”
The limo began to move as I held my breath and prayed that I was making a good decision. Over the past four years, I had a tendency to make poor ones, and it was only in hindsight that I realized what an idiot I was at times. I wondered if this was going to be one of tho
se instances.
The quietness of the car ride made me nervous so I decided to start some conversation.
“You have a daughter?” I asked. I had read up about Abraham after the gig last Saturday and there was never any mention in old news articles about his family.
“I had a daughter,” Abraham replied. I could hear the sadness in his voice and immediately felt bad for asking. I decided to change the subject.
“There are some wild stories about you on the internet. Are there any truths to them?”
Abraham chuckled. “Like all competitive business owners, I became a victim of slander,” he replied. “When the China White first opened, it was considered one of the premier dining establishments in the city. My chefs, flown from all parts of Asia, were instructed not only to create food but also to create art. My restaurant was the talk of the town and I worked very hard to maintain that sense of grandeur for the China White. Of course, success has its price and I soon discovered the mean spirit of competitive business. I was accused of many things: participating in wild male orgies in the back of my kitchen while patrons feasted on their suckling pig. Apparently I also practiced pagan voodoo and sacrificed virgin blood to demon gods, and probably much worse.”
“That’s so juvenile. Is everyone still in high school?” I remarked.
“Sadly in life, progress in money and power leads to regression in common sense and decency,” Abraham sighed. “It’s a flaw in this little thing that we do. I was hit with these ridiculous accusations, which I took great offense to—not because I was accused of being a homosexual Satanist—but because I took immense pride running a spotless, sanitary kitchen. I would never allow a single drop of body fluid to defile the sanctity of my restaurant’s cooking space.
“So I went to war, fighting against the issue that offended me the most—having a dirty kitchen. As for being a gay Satanist, I couldn’t care less. Call me a homosexual demon worshipper if you want, just don’t insult my spotless kitchen.”
“A true gay and religious activist,” I laughed.
“There are much worse things people can read about me,” Abraham said, in almost a whisper.
I decided not to press him on it.
Semblance Page 2